


across the universe we're lightning

by sappho (krithi)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Blink and you'll miss it, Bruce Banner & Tony Stark Friendship, Copious Amounts of Fluff, Dancing, Fluff, Happy Ending, Idiots in Love, Light Angst, M/M, Minor Bruce Banner/James "Rhodey" Rhodes, Minor Pepper Potts/Natasha Romanov, Monumentally Sappy, Not Canon Compliant, Not Even Slightly Canon Compliant, Not Iron Man 3 Compliant, Poetry, SO MUCH FLUFF, Sappy Ending, Slash, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, The Author Regrets Nothing, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Troll Clint Barton, Troll Tony Stark, Very Minor, because of course, not explicit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-02
Updated: 2018-07-02
Packaged: 2019-06-01 06:53:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 11,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15137552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/krithi/pseuds/sappho
Summary: Tony and Steve are friends, kind of.Until they're not.(Until they're more than that.)[working summary, ha.]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ok wow this is my first fic and i am nOT READY
> 
> (please be gentle i am fragile and crave validation)
> 
> *this is not beta-ed, just obsessively proofread because i am Nervous

Tony and Steve are friends, kind of.

They fix the Helicarrier together. They save the world together. They eat shawarma together. (Tony pays, but Tony pays for everything. He is, you know, the billionaire. And it was his idea, the shawarma.)

After Tony sends the nuke through the wormhole and wakes up to Steve hovering over him, stricken and dirt-spattered, after Thor takes Loki through the weird magic rainbow bridge with his weird magic hammer and they all gather to say their goodbyes, Steve shakes his hand and promises not to be a stranger.

Tony smirks. Steve gives him a half-smile, then rides off on his motorcycle, which, wow. (Tony maybe stares a little, but how could he not? Steve is the peak of human perfection, and he has an ass to prove it. And Tony's a renegade, not _blind_.)

Tony takes Bruce back to the tower, sets him up nicely, gives him his own suite and one of his R&D floors to use as a lab. Bruce is good company — mild-mannered, accommodating, willing to try pretty much anything. And he makes a mean taco.

Then Tony builds Avengers Tower, and Steve moves in — they all move in, even Thor, though he splits most of his time between Asgard and New Mexico.

But Clint and Natasha, aside from having a general aura of mystery — which, Tony supposes, comes with the territory of being super-secret-spies-assassins-agents — are off on missions, or at SHIELD, or just being typically secretive. Thor is either on another planet or in another state sucking face with Dr Jane Foster. And Bruce is also at SHIELD quite often, or working on getting a better handle on the Other Guy, and anyway, he seems to like to keep to himself in his spare time. So Tony mostly sees him when they're in the lab together, or at briefings and meetings and other official snooze-fests.

Bruce sleeps a lot. And he's away a lot. Tony doesn't pry; he figures Bruce is entitled to this time, where he finally gets to just exist, as a person, after all these years of running and waiting and hiding.

So Tony finds himself alone at home with Steve pretty regularly. Like, nearly all the time. They bump into each other in the communal kitchen, or the rec room, where Steve is usually watching a movie, or sprawled out on the floor reading, or on the couch sketching. He seemed shy, almost, when he first moved in, stiff, reserved, formal. Always sitting up straight, knees together, taking up as little space as he could, accounting for his general hugeness. (All those muscles. Jesus.)

Now, though — now he's looser, easier, more…open, somehow. He spreads out, on the carpeted floor, on the beanbags in the common room, wherever he's sitting. He puts his feet in Natasha's lap (they're total besties now, for reasons Tony cannot fathom for the life of him), lays his newspaper out on the breakfast bar to do the crossword with Bruce in the morning, lies on his stomach in front of the fireplace to read or draw or work (and yeah, Tony has a fireplace, and what are you gonna do?).

It's nice, to see Steve comfortable. To see him settling. More than once, Tony has caught him smiling to himself, humming quietly, when he thinks he's alone. And he doesn't spend all his time destroying punching bags anymore, so that's something.

So when Steve pokes his head into the lab one evening (or night, possibly early morning), Tony isn't annoyed, exactly, just — surprised. Steve's never really come down here before, not that he's had a reason to.

"Hey, Tony," he says, because that's what he calls Tony now. Which makes sense, considering that they work together, and live together, and — spend a lot of time existing the same place.

"Cap," Tony nods, pulling off his safety goggles. (Bruce insists on them. It's like Pepper never left.) "Everything alright?"

"Yeah," Steve blushes. He blushes pretty easily for a military man. "Tower's empty. And it's…really quiet."

"Want some company?" Tony asks, like Steve isn't the one showing up at his door like a little kid who's had a nightmare. Because he knows what it's like, when the silence is suffocating, ticking like a time bomb, when your own breathing is thunderous and you're just fucking drowning in it. In your own fucking lungs.

There's so much quiet. Too much quiet.

Steve nods, looking a smidge relieved, and steps gingerly into the lab like it'll just fucking explode if he moves too fast. His shoulders are squared and his eyes are darting back and forth — he's cataloguing, Tony realises, potential threats, escape routes, all the lab's weak spots. Tunnel-vision soldier. Probably doesn't even realise he's doing it.

"Cap," Tony says again, softly, because shit, he hates seeing that look on Steve's face. Like he's being hunted. Steve's eyes snap to him. Anticipating. He remembers where he is and his face floods with colour.

"Uh, there's someone I want you to meet," Tony plows on. "He's a little shy, you know, first-time jitters, performance anxiety, it's a whole thing." He clicks his tongue at the charging plate in the corner. "C'mon, git."

DUM-E trundles obligingly across the lab, waving his claw at Steve.

"Good boy," Tony says fondly.

"I'm — uh — hello," Steve says, looking down at the bot. Tony bites his lip to keep from laughing. "Steve Rogers." He holds out his hand.

DUM-E, amazingly, rolls forward and puts his claw in Steve's proffered hand. They shake. Tony blinks.

"Well, isn't that the sweetest thing I ever did see. He's never this good for me, you know. You are _not_ ," Tony adds when DUM-E whirs at him accusingly. "You're just showing off for Captain America because you're such a fanboy."

Steve smiles a little, biting his lip.

"That's DUM-E," Tony says. Steve frowns at him. "D—U—M—E, DUM-E. It's a name. This isn't bot abuse. I'm a responsible bot-owner, don't go calling social services on me."

"Can I draw him?" Steve asks, which, okay, is totally not what Tony was expecting him to say, but what the hell.

"Sure. What do you say, bud?"

DUM-E waves his claw again.

"He says to draw him like one of your French girls." Tony nods at the couch against the wall of the lab, next to the kitchen area, a pull-out sofa bed thing he uses to crash every now and then. More often, recently, since Pepper moved out. "Make yourself comfortable, Cap. Mi lab es tu lab and all that."

Steve blinks but doesn't comment, just settles into the couch and flips to a blank page in his sketchbook, which Tony now realises he had with him the whole time. He has a tin case of pencils, too, and a paperback book with a heinously cracked spine. Tony watches him work for a moment, brow furrowed in concentration, mouth hanging slightly open, fingers flitting deftly across the page. DUM-E, for once in his life, does exactly as he's told and stands stock-still, preening under Steve's steady gaze, the cocky little shit.

"Variable modification complete," JARVIS says, nudging him back to reality.

"Sweet," Tony murmurs, and dives back into his experiment.

The rest of the world falls away until DUM-E wheels over to him and bumps his knee twice. Tony looks down; clamped in DUM-E's claw is a sheet of torn-out sketchbook paper. He tugs at it, patting his bot on the head for a job well done.

It's a sketch of DUM-E, with Tony at work in the background. Tony grins despite himself; while everything about DUM-E is hyper-realistic, all clean lines and stark precision, Tony is small and cartoonish, his head large and eyes wide, magnified by his goggles. The arc reactor is a tiny circle with a heart drawn in the middle.

Tony looks over to Steve; Steve, who is curled into a corner of the couch, which is kind of comical, considering his size. His feet are tucked under him, and he's frowning slightly down at his book, chewing his lip thoughtfully.

"You're good," Tony blurts. Steve looks up at him questioningly, brightening when he sees Tony holding the drawing.

"I, uh, thanks," he says. Bashful. "I had a good model."

DUM-E does a little spin on his charging plate.

"No, don't encourage him," Tony tuts, flapping his hands at Steve. "Go to sleep, gear-head." This directed at DUM-E.

Steve grins; he looks so much _younger_ , somehow. Lighter.

"Whatcha reading?" Tony asks, with genuine interest. Steve looks down at the book in his hands and blushes a little.

" _Peter Pan_ ," he says, holding it up so Tony can see the cover. "I picked it up at the library. Clint made me a list of all the stuff I need to catch up on. Books, music, movies."

"Food," Tony adds. "You missed cake pops. _Cake pops_ , Steven. It's tragic. What's next on the list?"

"Uh," Steve frowns, like he's trying to remember. " _Fifty Shades of Grey_ , I think."

Tony chokes on nothing. "I'm — you — uh — Clint made the list, you said?"

"Yeah," Steve says contemplatively. "He said it was all the classics. Must-reads, stuff like that, you know."

"Yes," Tony mumbles, trying desperately to cram his laughter back down his throat, "obviously. What else is on the list?"

"Uh, _Twilight_ , he said. _Shrek_. _South Park_ , that's a TV show."

"It is," Tony agrees, toes curling with the effort of not exploding. "It is a TV show."

Steve smiles at him lopsidedly, then his gaze flickers back down to the book in his lap, and Tony turns back to his tool-cluttered workstation, shoving the cuff of his sweatshirt into his mouth so Steve won't see the foolish grin threatening to take over his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> does anybody want to write me a summary????? i am bAD at that
> 
> the title is from elton john's 'freaks in love' (see above tags pertaining to monumental sappiness)
> 
> concrit welcome!! (see above note pertaining to author's fragility and pathological need to be validated.)
> 
> — sappho x


	2. Chapter 2

Steve comes down to the lab two nights later, then the night after that, and then nearly every night he's home at the tower. Sometimes he shows up late, weary and battered, smiling tiredly nonetheless. Sometimes he stays for hours on end, drawing and reading and entertaining the bots, who have taken to Steve like flies to shit.

"Just so you know," Tony tells him one evening, when he's playing fetch with DUM-E and Butterfingers with an old bruised tennis ball, "if we ever get divorced, I'm keeping the kids."

Steve gives him a crooked smile. "Guess I better make sure you never want to leave me, then."

A lot of it is just the two of them sitting in silence, but it's nice. Companionable. Tony doesn't ever have to say anything; he's knee-deep in schematics or elbow-deep in some engine and Steve is still there, on the couch that Tony is coming to think of as _Steve's_ couch, in his own little bubble, but still maybe rubbing up against Tony's bubble, two little bubbles floating really close together while allowing each other the dignity of their own bubbly privacy and whatever, the analogy is fucked, it's just _nice_.

Rhodey used to sit around with him like this, back when they shared a room at MIT. Howard probably would have blown his fucking top over Tony opting to stay in a dorm instead of his own sprawling penthouse suite or something equally gratuitously opulent, if he'd been sober enough to notice, but he wasn't, so he didn't, and hanging around in some shitty dorm room eating Chinese takeout and drinking cheap beer and playing video games for hours on end were probably some of the best times in Tony's life. Rhodey never expected anything, never asked Tony to shoulder anything for him. He stuck around because he _wanted_ to. Because he felt like it, and he actually liked Tony, and told him as much, before calling him a dumbass and kicking his ass at _Contra_.

So. It's nice.

"Hey, what's that?" Tony asks when Steve stretches out on the sofa, because it's the first time Steve has shown up without an actual paper book, or his art stuff. Tony has a couple of Steve's drawings tacked up on the kitchen cabinets, because Steve is fucking talented.

Today, though, he's holding a sleek black tablet, which definitely isn't StarkTech, _hmph_ , Tony's going to have to fix that ASAP, wearing grey sweatpants and a white slim-fit shirt that rides up every time he moves. 

"Nat gave it to me," Steve says, drumming rhythmlessly on the back of the tablet. "It's, uh, poetry. A collection. She put it together. Nat, I mean."

"You like poetry?"

Steve shrugs. "Sure. I mean, yeah. My mom — she was a nurse, you know, in a TB ward, but she loved words. Said a couplet could end the war sooner than a bullet." Steve is half-smiling, a little fond, a little wistful.

Something about the way Steve's eyes are a little unfocussed, set deep with longing and maybe an edge of bitterness, the line of his mouth, fuzzy with a whisper of a smile, shoulders squared, always ready, waiting, to stand and fight and bear the weight of the world and all its losses, his strong, sharp jaw and hair glinting like spun gold in the cold white light of the workshop, the clean strip of skin between the waistband of his sweats and the hem of his shirt exposed as he leans back against the arm of the couch, long legs stretched out along the length of it — something, whatever it is, there's certainly no need to get mawkish about it, incites a twinge in Tony's chest, then his stomach, and he blurts, "Read me something," without really thinking about it because he's too busy thinking about Steve. (About the way he looks. Sad at the core of him, shot through with quiet anguish and pained resignation. Still on his feet, refusing to bow or bend or break. _I can't go on. I'll go on_.)

Steve blinks at him, thrown. "Read — a, uh, poem?"

"Yeah," Tony nods. "Go on, I want to hear it. Dazzle me."

Steve blushes — predictably — and looks to the ceiling, hugging the tablet to his stomach. He doesn't say anything, for a while, and if it weren't for the slow blinking of his eyes, Tony might've thought he'd fallen asleep. He's about to turn back to his prototype and forget the whole thing when Steve sucks in a long breath and exhales heavily.

"I like my body when it is with your body," and his voice is low, and rough, and altogether foreign, and Tony is sitting up ramrod straight in spite of himself, "it is quite so new a thing."

Tony holds his breath. Something nearly electric works its way down his spine.

"Muscles better and nerves more / I like your body / I like what it does / I like its hows —" Steve inhales shortly, sharply, swallows before he continues, Adam's apple bobbing, "I like to feel the spine / of your body, and its bones / and the trembling-firm-smoothness and which I will / again and again and again —" voice cracks, grows rougher "— kiss, I like kissing this and that of you / I like slowly stroking the shocking fuzz / of your electric fur / and what-is-it comes / over your parting flesh / and eyes big love-crumbs," and now, because he's trying to kill Tony, trying to kill him good and put him six feet under without even fucking touching him, Steve flicks his eyes over to Tony and holds his gaze as he finishes, "and possibly I like the thrill / of under me you quite so new."

"E. E. Cummings," Tony says dumbly.

Steve gives him a half-smile that could pass as a smirk, if he were anyone but Steve Rogers. "Yeah. I like his stuff."

"Me too," Tony says, thinking about the way Steve's mouth curves around the word _kiss_.

Steve leans up on one elbow. "What about you?"

"Huh?" Tony blinks.

"You know any poetry?"

"Oh," Tony says, runs a hand through his hair, mentally shakes himself. Steve is hot, Steve reciting poetry is hot, Steve reciting sexy love poetry is inimitably hot, and Steve is also the guy Clint Barton has managed to convince that Britney Spears' _Toxic_ is the twenty-first century's greatest musical masterpiece. Tony's lips twitch at the memory. "Sure, I know some poetry."

Steve arches an eyebrow. _Go on, then_ , says the eyebrow.

"Ah, hmm." Tony smiles to himself. Recites perfectly from memory: "Blue-jean baby, L.A. lady, seamstress for the band / pretty-eyed, pirate smile, you'll marry a music man / ballerina, you must have seen her / dancing in the sand / and now she's in me, always with me / tiny dancer in my hand."

Steve regards him, looking thoughtful. Tony presses his lips together. Maybe he should feel bad for being a troll. For trolling Captain America. But he doesn't, so.

"I like that," Steve says finally. "Kind of reminds me of Natasha."

"Yeah," Tony smiles. He feels a little giddy, which he refuses resolutely to analyse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the poem steve recites is e.e. cummings' 'i like my body when it is with your body'
> 
> and the one tony recites back to him is elton john's 'tiny dancer' because he's a troll. inherently. but you knew that.
> 
> concrit welcome!
> 
> — sappho x


	3. Chapter 3

Steve appears at his shoulder, once, on his way to the mini-fridge to grab himself a bottle of water. "How does that work?"

"What?" Tony asks, turning to look at him, rearing back a little when he finds Steve's face barely an inch from his. "The gauntlet?"

Steve shakes his head. "No, the…" He waves his hand at the mess of specs and schematics pulled up before them.

"The hologram?" Steve nods. "It's easy," Tony says, shifting to give him a better view. "You can manipulate it pretty much any way you want. Like — say, 'JARVIS, show me vibranium.'"

"JARVIS, show me vibranium," Steve repeats, a note of hesitation in his voice.

JARVIS does as he's told. Tony touches the scale rendering of a vibranium molecule to enlarge it, then pulls outwards sharply. Atoms explode across the lab, encasing the two of them in an ethereal blue glow.

"Whoa," Steve breathes, turning a slow circle as he stares at the light suspended in the air. "We're — inside it?"

"Inside the vibranium, yeah," Tony says, smirking at the childlike wonder on Steve's face. "Exploded view."

The molecule shrinks back down to size.

"Can I keep it?" Steve asks, sounding almost shy.

"The — the schematic?" Steve nods. "Okay," Tony blinks, "uh, sure. I can have JARVIS transfer it to your phone, and the, uh, tablet. If you want."

Steve smiles. "Thanks, Tony."

"Yeah," Tony nods. It's so easy to forget how young Steve really is, sometimes. "No problem."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alas, 'tis but a filler!
> 
> is it too early in the story for filler chapters? is my career as a professional slashfic writer doomed?
> 
> i needed to include this bit but i felt like it didn't belong in the previous chapter but also it doesn't feel developed enough to be a chapter of its own?? brb gonna tear myself to anxious shreds hahahahahahahah
> 
> anyway! thank you for reading. here is your reminder to drink more water.
> 
> — sappho x


	4. Chapter 4

They still argue. Sometimes constantly, when they're on the battlefield. Steve likes to let Tony know how _insubordinate_ and _knuckle-headed_ he is, and Tony likes to remind Steve that he never fucking signed enlistment papers, and in fact neither has anyone else, so maybe Steve should take a second to stop acting like they did. Steve's jaw works ceaselessly. Tony rolls his eyes so hard they kind of hurt.

They don't take any of it into the lab.

Steve is always quiet, subdued, after a particularly bad fallout, but he comes anyway, shuffling through the door with his eyes cast down or flitting about the room, looking at anything but Tony. Sometimes he marches right in and settles on his couch without so much as a word of acknowledgement. But he's always there.

Most days, though — most days are good. Easy. Steve's smile is more forthcoming, and the crease in his brow has smoothed out.

"What's that?" Tony asks, when Steve comes one evening in without his tablet, or his sketchbook.

Steve holds it up so Tony can see. Another worn-out paperback. " _The Wizard of Oz_."

Tony smirks. "I understood that reference," he says, as seriously as he can muster, but the face Steve makes pulls a laugh from him.

"Where's the tablet?" Tony asks, spinning around in his chair to face Steve properly.

"With Romanoff," Steve explains, lying back on the couch with his head on the armrest the way he usually does. "She takes it every now and then, to add stuff."

Tony nods, resuming his search for an electrode.

"What about you?" Steve asks, shaking his focus. "Got a sonnet up your sleeve?"

 _Alliteration_ , Tony notes. _Cute_. He glances over at Steve and his gaze falls on the book being thumbed by his left hand. "Sure I do."

Steve sits up, regarding him expectantly.

Tony takes a deep breath. "Goodbye yellow brick road / where the dogs of society howl / you can't plant me in your penthouse / I'm going back to my plough."

And God, Steve looks enraptured. Tony wills himself not to snort.

"Back to the howling old owl in the woods / hunting the horny-back toad / I've finally decided my future lies / beyond the yellow brick road."

Steve looks at him for a long time. Tony starts to think he's been figured out.

"That's not a sonnet," Steve says eventually.

Tony rolls his eyes.

"I like it," Steve murmurs. "Wish I could do that, sometimes. Just up and say fuck you to destiny."

And Tony can't help himself — he stares at Steve, and Steve laughs.

"Army," Steve reminds him, smirking. "I keep trying to tell you I never was a Boy Scout."

"Oh my _god_ ," Tony gapes. Steve laughs at him again, quiet and breathy.

"It's a good feeling, you know," Tony tells him. "Saying fuck you to destiny," he explains, off Steve's confused frown.

"Fuck destiny," Steve grins, looking right at him.

"Fuck destiny," Tony agrees.

They lapse into a silence that grows heavy with the weight of Steve's gaze.

"Your turn," Tony prompts. Steve hikes an eyebrow. "C'mon, Cap. I showed you mine, now you show me yours."

Steve rolls his eyes at the innuendo, but indulges him nonetheless. "If it is real the white / light from this lamp, real / the writing hand, are they / real, the eyes looking at what I write? / from one word to the other / what I say vanishes / I know I am alive / between two parentheses."

"Huh," Tony muses.

"I feel like that, sometimes," Steve says quietly, not looking at him anymore, just talking into the air of the room. "Between two parentheses."

Tony looks at him. Steve, who is sure and solid and so grounded, somehow, Steve who thinks of himself like some kind of apparition, in the wrong body at the wrong time, sees himself as a character in somebody else's comic books. Steve who is Captain America, because he can't be anyone else. Doesn't know if there's anyone else he can be.

"It's real," Tony says abruptly. "Steve? It's real."

 _I'm real_ , he wants to say. _I'm not going anywhere._

Steve nods like he understands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tony's 'poem': 'goodbye yellow brick road', elton john
> 
> steve's poem: 'certainty', octavio paz
> 
> stay hydrated!  
> — sappho x


	5. Chapter 5

Tony is tired. So very fucking tired. Tired in a way that he feels in his bones, in a way that sleep can't fix.

Bruce makes tacos for team dinner, and they all sit around the kitchen island with their plates piled high except for Barton, who's in Medical, and Thor, who's in space. Tony excuses himself early, assuring Bruce his tacos are fabulous, which they are, and hightails it to the lab as soon as he's out of the kitchen.

 _Still standing_ , he tells himself, clenching his fists too hard.

Steve appears in the doorway moments later. "Tony?"

"Captain," Tony nods, busying himself with his magnifier. _Still standing._

"You alright?"

"Yes," Tony says shortly, gut twisting when Steve flinches at his tone.

"Okay, I'll just—" He slips into the lab and sits gingerly on the couch, his hands clasped in his lap.

Tony breathes heavily into ensuing silence. He wants to say _I'm stuck in my own fucking head_ but he can't and he wants to say _I want to drink myself to death or numbness_ but he can't and he wants to say _I'm so sick of myself_ but he can't and he wants to say _I'm so fucking tired_ but he can't, he can't, he can't.

 _Too much fucking quiet_ , he wants to scream, but it comes out as, "Got a poem for me, Cap?"

"Not today," Steve says apologetically. He doesn't have the tablet. Come to think of it, he's empty-handed — he must have followed Tony straight from the kitchen.

"Shame," Tony murmurs, desperately pushing down the panic clawing at his chest. _Still fucking standing._

"Do you?" Steve asks, sounding a little wary.

"Yes," Tony says immediately. "Sure I do."

So much quiet. He's choking on it.

"You could never know what it's like," Tony babbles, "your blood like winter / freezes just like ice / and there's a cold lonely light / that shines from you / you'll wind up like the wreck you hide / behind that mask you use."

"C'mere," Steve says, sliding to the floor, leaning back against the couch. Tony looks at him for a moment, then begrudgingly walks across the lab and settles himself beside Steve.

Steve pulls his StarkPhone out of his pocket and sets it on the floor in front of them. "JARVIS, show me vibranium."

The schematic shoots up from the phone. They watch vibranium hang in the air before them, seemingly humming with power.

"Cold lonely light," Steve murmurs, and when Tony turns to look at him, his eyes are fixed on the arc reactor. They flick up to meet Tony's eyes momentarily. "The core of the reactor is vibranium, right?"

"Yeah," Tony says.

Steve pinches and spreads his hands the way Tony showed him, and the vibranium expands around them, so that they're sitting right in the middle of it.

"It's not cold, Tony," Steve says, staring up at the display, his mouth hanging slightly open. "It's hopeful. It's a — it's a beacon."

"A beacon," Tony repeats incredulously.

Steve shrugs. "Things are different now. It's a good reminder. And maybe — before — people — it was scary, or something. Unnatural. But now people see Iron Man, and it gives them hope. Light in the darkness."

"You are such a sap."

"It's comforting," Steve insists. "You're like a — a walking nightlight."

"A walking nightlight," Tony snorts, then falls back against the couch laughing.

"I put this up every night before bed. Helps me sleep." Steve jerks his chin at the light surrounding them. "So, yeah, walking nightlight."

They both look without speaking for a while. From this vantage point, vibranium is almost breath-taking, ethereal in a way.

"It looks like a galaxy from here," Steve breathes, blinking up at the ceiling. "Isn't it beautiful?"

Tony looks at Steve, his long lashes fluttering slowly as he stares. Pink mouth a little open so Tony can see that it's just as pink on the inside. "Yeah," Tony agrees. "It is."

 

*****

 

"Know a poem about stars?" Tony asks a while later, when they're both still sitting on the floor, craning their necks. At some point, Tony leaned into Steve's side, and at some point, Steve leaned back.

"Not yet," Steve admits. "Or — yeah, actually, but it's kind of short."

"Size doesn't matter, Cap."

Steve rolls his eyes, then takes a breath, the way he always does before he starts a poem. "Those eyes of yours / could swallow stars / galaxies and universes / what hope did I / ever have?"

Tony doesn't realise he's staring until Steve raises an eyebrow. He looks away and tamps down the blush rising to his cheeks.

" _Such_ a sap," he teases.

"Whatever. You love it," Steve grins.

"Can't argue with that," Tony grins back.

 

*****

 

Tony wakes up and doesn't know where he is. 

"What the fuck," he rasps, scrambling to sit up.

He's in the lab — in his own lab, in his own tower. He's on the couch, draped in an old fleecy blanket. He remembers sitting here with Steve — oh, God, Steve, he must have fallen asleep while they were talking…

There's a lukewarm cup of coffee and a paper bag with a bagel in it on the nearest counter. And a note in Steve's handwriting. Steve left him a note.

 

_the world_

_gives you_

_so much pain_

_and here you are_

_making gold out of it_

_— THERE IS NOTHING PURER THAN THAT, rupi kaur_

 

Tony stares. At the note. At the bagel. At the coffee with no milk and no cream and one sugar, because Steve knows how he takes his coffee.

 

_THERE IS NOTHING PURER THAN THAT_

 

"Fuck," he mumbles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I WARNED YOU THERE WOULD BE SAP DON'T @ ME
> 
> tony:  
> 'i'm still standing' by elton john
> 
> steve:  
> \- the stars poem does not have a title but it's by david jones from his poetry collection Love As The Stars Went Out
> 
> \- the other poem is rupi kaur's 'there is nothing purer than that' from her book Milk & Honey
> 
> love, kisses, & spaghetti-os,  
> — sappho x


	6. Chapter 6

Tony thinks he might be friends with Natasha Romanoff, which is equal parts surreal and petrifying.

She tells him, when she's moving into the tower, that she's sorry about the things she put in his SHIELD file. She also thanks him incredibly sincerely for giving her a place to call home, which startles Tony so much he babbles for a good twenty seconds before she shuts the door in his face.

Natasha texts him, sometimes. (She likes to use emoji. It's terrifying.)

She texts him tonight, drawing his attention from the evening's third redesign of the Widow's bites when JARVIS chimes overhead and says, "Message for you from Agent Romanoff, sir."

Tony locates his phone in the mess of spare parts strewn across his workspace and squints down at it.

 

 **Natashalie Rushmanoff:** _it's movie night_

 **Natashalie Rushmanoff:** _come up and hang out with us_

 

Tony chews his lip and stares at the screen, feeling a sudden and foreign rush of warmth in his chest.

 

 **Tony:** _Miss me, Romanoff?_

 **Natashalie Rushmanoff:** _absolutely not_

 

The next message Natasha sends him is a nine-second video of Steve staring at the television in utmost captivation while the _Legally Blonde_ title sequence plays on the screen. Tony snorts.

 

 **Tony:** _Is Barton trying to catch Steve up on the 21st century again_

 **Natashalie Rushmanoff:** _no_

 **Natashalie Rushmanoff:** _i am_

 

Tony plays the video again, taking in the clean, sharp lines of Steve's profile. Steve is a graphite sketch, an impressionist piece where Tony is drawn in soot and charcoal, smudged around the edges. (Literally. Tony has a portrait tacked to the mini fridge — Steve did it over the course of two nights, and blushed stupidly when Tony asked if he could keep it.)

 

 **Tony:** _Fine_

 

Natasha sends him a series of hearts and kissy faces in reply. Tony shudders.

 

*****

 

Tony spreads his arms wide when the elevator doors slide open with a _ding_ in an all-encompassing gesture, then flops down with his feet in Bruce's lap before being shushed loudly by Clint.

Bruce is rubbing his feet, because Bruce is a gorgeous darling angel, and Barton is hogging the popcorn. Natasha is lounging on a beanbag next to him, sybaritic, like a cat pushing into a caress.

It's fascinating, to watch Steve's face as he watches the screen. Steve looks enthralled; he nods and laughs and rolls his eyes in all the right places, and curls his lip whenever Warner says anything onscreen. He's always so guarded, so aware of himself, face hard and passive and betraying nothing. It makes Tony's breath catch to see the mask slip, to see some kid from Brooklyn trickling through the cracks.

Tony's phone goes off, startling him into jostling the bowl of popcorn in his lap.

 

 **Legolas:** _quit staring your gay is showing_

 

He looks up to find Clint smirking at him.

 

 **Legolas:** _on your left_

 

Tony turns to his left to see Steve gathering the spilled popcorn, bent over like Elle Woods about to snap. He swallows.

 

 **Legolas:** _want me to pause the movie while you grab a sock_

 **Tony:** _Fuck off_

 

He doesn't take his eyes off the screen for the rest of the film.

 

*****

 

Steve follows him down to the lab after it's over, when everybody heads to bed and Natasha slinks off to do whatever it is that Natasha does after dark. (Tony definitely isn't asking.)

"Whaddaya got for me, Cap?" Tony burbles when Steve starts swiping through the tablet, because he can't stand it, Steve sitting there being Steve and looking like Steve.

Steve is beautiful — the kind of beautiful people break their necks to get another look at. Of course he's beautiful. He's engineered to be beautiful. He's the _peak of human perfection_. And it's not like Tony's ever kept it a secret that he thinks Steve is beautiful, because everyone thinks that. The Queen of England probably has wet dreams about Captain America. (And wow, God, that is _not_ a visual he needed to give himself.)

It's just — just — something about having Steve so fucking close and being so fucking beautiful is deeply, inexorably frustrating. Tony's fingers itch with it.

Steve smiles, loose and happy. Takes a breath. Tony watches the rise and fall of his chest.

"It is possible to assassinate my heroes / with the scope of my individualism / however, by their own persistence to themselves / I believe they have chosen me to pursue a self / what is literature / but the illumination of that which I would write? / Salinger speaks through me, to me / whispers, _Where to, little boy?_ " He actually whispers, the dork. "My answer is the dogged pen to page / which lights consistently the pathway home / it is on that road / that I alone can trip my way back to myself."

"What's it called?" Tony asks, for lack of something to say.

" _An Unpublished Manuscript of J. D. Salinger_." The smile is still there.

"You feel like you're on that road?" Tony clears his throat. "Tripping your way back to yourself?"

"I don't know," Steve admits. He looks Tony right in the eye when he says it. "But I think I'm tripping my way towards something."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> your faves interact! clint barton is a troll! natasha lives up to her title of Good Bro!
> 
> this chapter's poem is, as mentioned, 'an unpublished manuscript of j.d. salinger' by rider strong
> 
> love always!
> 
> — sappho x


	7. Chapter 7

Steve is unyielding as ever during missions, but Tony makes himself stand it. Tries his god-fucking best to be a team player, to show up to team training and 'best apply himself', whatever the fuck that means.

Predictably, it doesn't last very long. Because yeah, Tony takes risks, but they're calculated risks, and Tony is crazy good at math. It's kind of his whole thing.

 _Genius, remember?_ he wants to say, doing a celebratory loop in the air. But he looks down and Steve is throwing his shield in front of Barton, and himself in front of Natasha, sheltering them from the hail of bullets from whatever trigger-happy maniac they've been sent to take down this time.

The bullets ricochet off the shield like they're made of rubber. They sink right into Steve like he's made of clay.

Steve shakes them off, snatches his shield out of the air, leaps back into fighting stance.

 _Bulletproof_ , Tony reminds himself, willing his heart to stop stuttering in his chest. He designed that fucking suit, of course it's fucking bulletproof, there's no way he'd let anyone take Steve down that easy.

"Iron Man!" Widow yells as he takes a blow to the faceplate. The HUD blinks and flickers.

"JARVIS?" Tony mumbles, stricken.

"Iron Man, do you copy?" Steve's voice crackles through the comm, sounding tinny and distant.

Something hits him hard in the back, right behind the arc reactor.

Iron Man falls out of the sky.

 

*****

 

Tony's eyes flutter open in a hospital bed to the sound of Steve murmuring, "…a single waking glimpse."

"Ironic," he mumbles, his voice rough from disuse.

Steve sits up and grabs his hand, eyes wide. "Thank god," he breathes, then grins. "Nobody kissed you."

Tony musters a smile, watching as Steve calls for Bruce and Natasha, then the SHIELD medic. His skin tingles where Steve touches him.

At maybe three in the morning, Tony trudges down to the kitchen for a drink of water. He's already finished the glass Bruce put by his nightstand after ushering him to bed early that night. Tony didn't protest all that much; it's kind of nice to be coddled, sometimes.

He finishes with the water and pads out into the common room when he notices the hazy, orange light; there's a figure hunched over, knees tucked into chest, on the rug in front of the lit fireplace.

"Steve?" Tony croaks, because who else could it be?

Steve turns to look at him, his blond hair glowing in the firelight. "Tony? How come you're awake?"

"Got thirsty," Tony tells him, sinking down onto the rug. Steve goes back to hugging his knees, staring into the fire.

Tony bumps Steve's shoulder with his own. "Read to me," he says, just to say something, to stop Steve from looking so goddamn lost.

Steve glances at him, then back into the flames. When he speaks, it doesn't sound like a recitation — just words strung together to sound pretty.

"Her eyes were like fire. They weren't red or anything. Not particularly warm, either. They didn't glow, or 'appear to glow', whatever that means. But they had the same strange blend of familiar and miraculous — and they were always nice to look at after a long day of doing things."

"That's nice," Tony says. It is. It makes him think of Pepper.

Steve doesn't say anything. Tony bumps him with his shoulder again. "Penny for your thoughts? I got a couple to spare."

"Just remembering," Steve murmurs.

"Remembering," Tony echoes.

"I miss them," Steve says suddenly. "Everyone. From before. I didn't — I thought I had people. I thought I was going to have a whole life." His voice cracks. "I thought I was going to have a family."

Steve's face crumples for a moment. His eyes are glassy.

"It was two weeks before Fury called me in for New York, you know," he continues. "I was asleep for seventy years, but I was only awake for two weeks. Two weeks ago I put my plane down in the Atlantic to destroy a Hydra weapon, and then goth Captain Hook tells me I gotta go out there and fight some lunatic with a Hydra weapon." Tony smiles a little at the pirate joke. His chest feels too tight for the arc reactor. "It felt like it was — like it was nothing. I lost my — I lost someone I loved. I lost my best friend. And nothing changed."

Tony, in an unprecedented turn of events, finds himself utterly speechless. He leans into Steve's side, and Steve relaxes a little into the touch.

"Bucky fell," he says, so quietly it's almost a whisper. "I watched him fall. Right in front of me. I couldn't stop it." Steve looks at him, finally, and his eyes are so blue and so, so sad. "And then you fell. And I couldn't — I thought — I can't keep losing people, Tony."

"You stayed at the hospital," Tony murmurs, sinking further into Steve's solid warmth. Steve shifts a little, lets him nestle against him.

"Yeah," he says with half a smile. "I felt like if I took my eyes off you for a second — I just — I couldn't leave you. We finished _The Wizard of Oz_ together, by the way."

"I heard you," Tony remembers, sitting up straight. "When I woke up. What was that?"

"Poem," Steve says. "Untitled." At Tony's spurring look: "Though I visit him / ceaselessly / in my dreams / the sum of all those meetings / is less than a single waking glimpse."

Tony looks at Steve. His eyes are so sad, and so blue.

"My turn," he says decisively, pushing Steve down to lie on the floor. Steve frowns slightly, but complies, if reluctantly. Tony stretches out on the opposite side of the rug, so that their heads are right next to each other.

"It seems," Tony begins, then stops, swallows, tries again. "It seems to me you lived your life / like a candle in the wind / never knowing who to cling to / when the rain set in / and I would have liked to have known you / but I was just a kid / your candle burned out long before / your legend ever did."

A beat. "Can you…is there more?" Steve asks, his breath kissing the shell of Tony's ear.

Tony chews his lip. "And while I'm away / dust the demons inside / and it won't be long before you and me run / to the place in our hearts where we hide / and I guess that's why they call it the blues / time on my hands / could be time spent with you / laughing like children / living like lovers / rolling like thunder / under the covers."

"Thank you," Steve whispers.

Tony nods, listening to Steve's long, even breaths in the silence.

 

*****

 

Tony wakes up to Steve's face, upside down, fast asleep. His dark, golden eyelashes are fanned out across his cheekbones, and his nose is grazing Tony's shoulder.

Tony rolls away from him and sits up, rubbing his eyes. He watches Steve sleep for a second longer, then heads straight for the lab, forgoing breakfast and a shower.

He brushes his teeth in the lab's kitchen sink, then texts Pepper the poem from last night. As an afterthought, he adds, _I love you_ , then deletes it and types, _This reminded me of you_ , and hits send.

"Okay," Tony says out loud to himself, "okay. JARVIS, give me Hawkeye's new quiver."

JARVIS pulls up the specs without question, unwaveringly efficient as always.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> steve's first poem is called 'her eyes' and it's from bo burnham's egghead
> 
> (which is such a good book and bo burnham is brilliant ily bo)
> 
> his second one is untitled by ono no komachi and gives me serious steve/bucky feels
> 
> the first part of tony's recitation is from elton john's 'candle in the wind' and the second part is from 'i guess that's why they call it the blues'
> 
> in other news i spent an absurd amount of time googling elton john lyrics for this fic
> 
> heart, smiley face, ex oh ex oh  
> — sappho x


	8. Chapter 8

Tony really, really doesn't want to be here. And not just because he's bored, even though he is, Jesus Christ, so mind-numbingly bored. Everything is _too much_ ; there are too many people, and the music is too loud, and the wine is too bitter in his mouth.

Thor's booming laugh drifts across the room, grounding him for a second. Natasha is dutifully making conversation at Pepper's side, slipping right into Natalie Rushman as if it was always there inside her, waiting to crawl back out.

Tony invited them all kind of last minute — one might say he insisted, dragged them along, even. It's good publicity, the Avengers at the Stark Industries table. Plus it's an excuse to get all dressed up, and when was the last time any of them went to a gala, anyway?

(It's just an added bonus that having them sitting around the table laughing and nodding and clapping as Pepper gives her speech makes him feel a little less lonely, a little less desperate.)

"Shouldn't you be out there schmoozing?"

Tony turns and Steve is there, smiling down at him, looking unfairly delicious in his dark suit and bright red tie. _Nat chose it for me_ , he'd said.

"Not in the mood," Tony shrugs, playing nonchalant. "You, though. You're a natural."

Steve huffs a laugh, shaking his head. "That's Captain America."

Tony is losing his footing, falling, sinking, suffocating.

"Dance with me," he snaps, dropping his glass on the nearest table and grabbing Steve's hands.

He waits for the protest, the rebuff, but it never comes. Steve lets Tony drag him to a clear section of the floor, takes one of Tony's hands in his own and puts the other on his hip.

They start to move, slowly.

"I haven't done this in a long time," Steve murmurs, squeezing the hand clasped in his own.

"It's okay," Tony says, looking up at him, because he has to when they're this close. "We can't be worse than Bruce and Rhodey."

Steve turns to look at the two men in question. Bruce and Rhodey are standing in front of each other, holding hands — both hands, like they're about to break into song — and swaying awkwardly. They're both smiling, though, shy and tentative, and Bruce's whole face is lit up in a way that Tony's never seen before.

Steve laughs a little, and Tony feels the vibration of it against his own chest. He grips Steve's hand and shoulder and presses close and it isn't enough and he still wants to crawl out of his own goddamn skin. _You owe it to Pepper to be here_ , he tells himself. _This is taking me apart_ , his self tells him back.

"Talk to me," Tony demands.

Steve understands, somehow — moves his hand to the small of Tony's back, drops his mouth to Tony's ear.

"Uh, this one's kinda silly," he murmurs.

"Don't care," Tony says, resisting the urge to collapse against him.

Steve inhales, his breath tickling Tony's ear, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. "The Sasquatch squats, flowers in hand / on an old stump by the riverbed / she's not coming / he knows that by now / but he stays put — tracing circles in the dirt / with his big toe / overhead, the birds sing their condolences / a foxes passes and offers a bite of a dead squirrel / the monster politely declines / as the sun tucks itself behind the horizon / his eyes close, his chin meets his chest / and the flowers slip from his grasp."

Tony leans back, blinking up at him. "That's not silly, that's just sad."

Steve's lips twitch. "You asked."

Tony watches the movement of his mouth. Lets himself forget everything, just for a second. "Another one," he orders, or perhaps begs.

"So much depends upon / a red wheelbarrow / glazed with rainwater / beside the white chickens."

The floor is filling up with dancing couples, now. Across the room, Natasha dips Clint and then drags him upright again, grinning. Thor sweeps Pepper grandly across the room, her tinkling laugh trailing behind them.

"More."

"Ten thousand flowers in spring, the moon in autumn / a cool breeze in summer, snow in winter / if your mind isn't clouded by unnecessary things / this is the best season of your life."

"Fitting," Tony murmurs wryly, then, before Steve can ask: "You're a good dancer."

"Not so bad yourself," Steve grins.

"It's been a while," Tony finds himself admitting, "since I've danced with a guy. In the literal sense, anyway."

"And in other senses?"

Tony stares up at the perfectly arched eyebrow, the brilliant blue eyes, the plush pink mouth teasing the beginnings of a smirk. "Read me something else," he says, denying the quiver in his voice and the dryness of his throat.

Maybe he's imagining it, but Steve's heartbeat thumps against his chest, and his eyes are wide and dark. "Offer your body as a burning building / without fire escapes / I want to feel you like lifelines / on the palms of Christ / when the nails went through."

Tony shivers. Steve is close enough that he can count each individual eyelash. His hand is hot against Tony's back. "More," he whispers.

Steve pulls back, spins him, then draws him close again, smiling all the while. The poem reminds Tony of the night by the fire: no rhythm, no rhyme, just Steve's low, steady cadence. "When all of this is over, will our atoms play amongst the stars? Will we dance and laugh through the galaxies? Will we be happy at last?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yay dancing! yay flirting! i have been ruined by fluffy fanfiction and romantic comedies starring ryan gosling!
> 
> today's poems, in order:  
> \- sasquatch, bo burnham (from his book egghead)  
> \- the red wheelbarrow, william carlos williams  
> \- ten thousand flowers in spring, wu-men  
> \- tonight, andrea gibson  
> \- untitled, david jones
> 
> (i really really love poetry. if you couldn't tell.)
> 
> — sappho x


	9. Chapter 9

Steve and Tony fight and Tony starts it but Steve yells harder and louder than Tony ever has and Tony just wants him to _stop_.

He yells back — hard, loud — spits and snarls and lets poisonous things spill from his lips. He doesn't mean it, he hardly ever does, but Steve reels back like he's been slapped.

Tony realises, belatedly, that they've argued all the way down to lab. _The bubble_ , he remembers. And Steve — Steve has taken bullets less flinchingly than this.

He calls the armour and dives out of the nearest window.

 

*****

 

It's dark when Tony circles back to the tower. Somebody is sitting on the roof, feet dangling over the edge.

"You broke the window," Steve informs him when he's close enough to hear.

"How did you get up here?" Tony asks, hovering by the edge of the roof.

"Climbed," Steve says, glancing up at him.

Tony sets the armour down a little way from him and steps out of it. "You climbed the tower?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Steve scoffs. "I climbed out of the top floor window."

Tony sits down next to him, cross-legged. Wants, for a split-second, to throw his legs over the edge of the tower, to have his _Pretty Woman_ moment — _look, no hands!_

He hugs his knees instead and looks out at the city.

"You don't," Steve says after a while, his voice uncharacteristically thick, "you don't know it…"

"Fuck," Tony says.

Steve takes a deep breath. "You don't know it, but—" His voice cracks, and he looks away, swallowing.

"Fuck," Tony says again.

Another long breath. "You don't know it, but / sometimes, I go to a hill that overlooks / the landscape's mass of city lights / for a sip of momentary grace." He's looking out at Manhattan — the mass of city lights — without really seeing anything. "On this brink of everything I know, I can gain / an eyeful of the lost Atlantis of the human soul / and a breath that fills my lungs with the air between two stars."

He looks over at Tony now, and for three laden seconds, doesn't say a word.

"If you were now to capture the image of this elation / in the framework of your mind / or find transcendence through these words / then at most you know nothing / of the beauty your existence throws to me." His eyes flicker over Tony's face, then back out to the city. "For mine is a love no experience / no measure, no words / could ever degrade into reality by virtue of degree."

Tony looks at him. At Steve — Steve, who went to battle with nothing left to fight for, Steve who reads poetry and sketches everything perfectly from memory and plays fetch with robots and takes bullets for his teammates without a second thought, Steve who sat by his hospital bed and read to him and waited desperately for him to wake up, Steve who makes him coffee and buys him bagels and leaves him handwritten notes and tells him he has a galaxy in his chest. Steve, sitting on the roof, close enough for Tony to touch him, hold him, kiss him.

"I'm sorry," Tony says in a near-whisper.

"Me too," Steve says, finally looking at him.

Tony stands and lets the armour assemble around him. "Let me fly you home."

Steve gets to his feet, looking dubious.

"It's just like dancing," Tony assures him, flipping the faceplate up, taking Steve's hand in his own gauntleted one.

"Just like dancing," Steve repeats warily, but he steps up close and lets Tony wrap an arm around his waist, then, after a moment, throws his free arm around Tony's neck.

"Lay on, Macduff," he murmurs. Tony puts the faceplate back down, grinning.

"So fair and foul a day I have not seen," he teases, taking off with Steve secure in his arms.

"Fair is foul and foul is fair," Steve retorts, a little stiffly, but when Tony looks at him through the faceplate, he's smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey there demons it's me ya boi
> 
> my sons aren't very good at conflict de-escalation but what else is new
> 
> but the power of literature saves the day! specifically 'top of the world' by rider strong
> 
> enjoy your daily dose of gratuitous shakespeare references! i mean it from the bottom of my heart when i say that i, a stranger on the internet you have never met and likely never will, LOVE YOU SO MUCH
> 
> — sappho x


	10. Chapter 10

They're sitting on the lab's couch, legs tangled together, when Steve pokes Tony in the ribs and says, "You know, it's been a while since you read to me."

"Do you want me to read to you?" Tony asks, smiling. He can't seem to stop smiling, lately.

"I'm just saying I'm tired of doing all the heavy lifting. As usual."

"Okay, fucking _rude_ ," Tony objects, jabbing Steve in the sternum, which gets him a laugh. "Fine, give me a second. Let me think."

Steve watches him with a small smile on his face.

"Okay, uh… There's a calm surrender / to the rush of day / when the heat of a rolling wind / can be turned away / an enchanted moment / and it sees me through / it's enough for this restless warrior / to be with you."

Steve arches an eyebrow expectantly.

"Can you feel the love tonight? / how it's laid to rest / it's enough to make kings and vagabonds / believe the very best / there's a time for everyone / if they only learn / that the twisting kaleidoscope / moves us all in turn / there's a rhyme and reason / to the wild outdoors / when the heart of this star-crossed voyager / beats in time with yours."

"I guess that was alright," Steve concedes with a shrug.

" _Alright_ ," Tony gasps, faux-scandalised, and shoves Steve in the chest, which, predictably, has zero impact whatsoever.

Steve catches his wrist easily. "Now who's fucking rude?"

Tony draws himself up to his full height. "You come into my lab, on the day my daughter is to be married…"

Steve manages to hold his gaze for all of five seconds before they both burst out laughing.

"I liked it," Steve says as Tony collapses against his chest, giggling. "The poem."

Tony looks up at him — close enough to touch, to hold, to kiss. He sits up suddenly, hugging himself, and looks down at his lap. "Don't mention it."

 

*****

 

 _You are not pining_ , Tony tells himself, blinking blearily at the lab. _You are Tony fucking Stark. You miniaturised arc reactor technology in a cave at the mercy of a terrorist organisation. You survived having your heart literally ripped out of your chest. You flew a nuclear weapon through a space portal. You once told Pepper Potts you didn't like her shoes._

 _You are not fucking pining_ , he repeats to himself emphatically. _You are Tony Stark, and you don't pine._

"I'm fine," Tony tells the empty room.

"Of course, sir," JARVIS replies smoothly.

 

*****

 

Tony lets the whiskey slide down his throat and burn, gripping the newly-opened bottle by the neck. He stares at the amber sloshing around the bottom of his glass, relishes the bitter sting of it on his tongue.

"Tony?"

Tony jerks around in his barstool and takes in Steve, sleepy-eyed, standing there in pyjama pants, his hair mussed.

"Captain," he mumbles, his eyes darting to the glass in his right hand, the bottle in his left, the two empty decanters on the bar.

"Tony." There's something in his voice — disgust, or pity, or worse.

Tony looks at him. Steve looks right back.

And then, so quickly Tony doesn't even realise it's happening, he snatches the glass and the bottle and heads straight for the kitchen.

"Hey," Tony protests, stumbling after him.

Steve empties the glass into the kitchen sink and sets it hard on the counter. Tony winces at the sound of glass hitting marble.

"You're not dumping that," he says, when Steve hefts the bottle.

Steve gives him a long look, expression unreadable. "Fine," he grits out, and lifts the bottle to his lips.

"Holy fuck," Tony blinks as Steve chugs the entirety of the whiskey in under a minute.

He slams the bottle down on the counter next to the glass with a _chink_.

"Go to bed, Tony." When Tony doesn't move, Steve takes him by the elbow and steers him gently towards the elevator. "Come on."

"Not my room," Tony murmurs. He's torn between _I want you_ and _I can't be alone_. _Don't touch me_ and _don't leave_. _Kiss me. Kill me. Either way, make it hurt_.

He's being helped into a bed. "Wait," he says, and pulls his shirt over his head. Steve's eyes flick to the arc reactor, then all the way down Tony's bare torso. Tony flushes and feels something hot and liquid stir in his belly.

He lets Steve pull the sheets over his body. Watches as Steve crawls into bed beside him, his knee knocking Tony's thigh.

"Go to sleep, Tony," Steve murmurs, even as Tony's eyes flutter closed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> he is nOT FUCKING PINING YOU HEAR
> 
> today's chapter brought to you by elton john's 'can you feel the love tonight?' from the lion king soundtrack, aka the Only True Bop
> 
> kissies!
> 
> — sappho x


	11. Chapter 11

Steve starts to leave him notes. Always entirely in lowercase, always on a coloured Post-It.

Tony finds the first one after he wakes up in Steve's bed, alone. It's on the nightstand, along with a tall glass of water and a blister pack of paracetamol.

 

_dam's broke,_

_head's a_

_waterfall._

_— MORNING, robert creely_

 

Tony stares at it, then pops four tablets out of the pack and swallows them all at once.

He gets the next one two days later, when he wakes up in the lab — again — to a cup of coffee, hot this time, and a bagel in a paper bag — again.

 

_and i was_

_never sure_

_whether you_

_were the_

_lighthouse or_

_the storm._

_— david jones_

 

Steve doesn't ever mention that night, with the whiskey and the pleading and Tony falling asleep in his bed. He comes down to the lab and talks and laughs and draws and reads like nothing in the world has changed.

He stands too close and touches Tony's arm and back and chest and teases him mercilessly. He pushes and Tony pushes back.

He smiles a lot. It makes Tony's stomach swoop.

 

*****

 

Natasha doesn't celebrate her birthday, ever, but Tony coaxes her into inviting the team over for drinks and doughnuts. Natasha mixes the drinks herself, and the doughnuts are iced with red and black to look like spiders.

Tony realises, as Bruce and Clint pull her in for a hug at the same time, and she laughs and wrinkles her nose and pretends to cringe away from them, that Natasha is scared. Scared to let someone throw her a birthday party. Scared to let anyone in, to let herself love. To let herself be loved.

"It's an honour," Steve says, when Tony mentions it to him some time later, "to be trusted with something like that. To be worth taking that kind of risk."

"I don't know," Tony says, not looking at him.

Later, Steve comes down to the lab with a cardboard box full of leftover doughnuts and a threat to remove him bodily from the lab if he overworks himself. He squeezes Tony's shoulder as he leaves.

Tony opens the box. The note is stuck to the inside of the lid.

 

_and then the day came_

_when the risk_

_to remain tight_

_in a bud_

_was more painful_

_than the risk_

_it took_

_to blossom._

_— RISK, anais nin_

 

*****

 

Tony wakes up one morning to a pink Post-It note stuck to his forehead and the unmistakable scent of coffee permeating the air and realises that he's completely and irrevocably fucked.

 

_we are ghosts of ourselves_

_until they come along._

_love fills us in_

_in all our thin places._

_love gives us skin._

_— atticus_

 

"So fucked," Tony mutters out loud.

JARVIS, for once, doesn't answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> steve is a cutie i love my son
> 
> — sappho x


	12. Chapter 12

Tony has seen Natasha snap a guy's neck with her bare hands and barely break a sweat over it, and that still isn't nearly as terrifying as her asking him to be her date.

"What the _fuck?_ " is what comes out after a solid thirty seconds of open-mouthed floundering.

"Pepper's hosting a gala tonight," she tells him, lolling about in the doorway, all long, loose limbs and lithe grace. "And you could stand to get out of the house."

Tony looks down at the smoothie DUM-E is holding out to him and resists the urge to rub his admittedly tired eyes.

"Okay," he says, surprising himself and possibly Natasha, though she doesn't show it.

"Great," she smiles, and she's radiance and slaughter in the same breath. "Wear a green tie. Forest."

"Okay," Tony parrots stupidly as she walks away.

That's how Tony finds himself in Stark Industries' dimly-lit event hall, hovering by the bar while Natasha goes to say hello to Pepper. He watches both the women laugh, then lean in and kiss each other on the cheek.

Oh, Tony thinks. _Oh._

As far as dates go, Natasha isn't half bad. She's wearing a forest green wrap dress — same colour as Tony's tie — that sets off her red hair nicely, and heels she could probably gut someone with. She slips her hand into the crook of his elbow and orders him martinis extra-dry-extra-olives and ribs on the other guests with him, falling into demure composure whenever anyone joins them.

Natasha waves him over, still smiling, and Pepper grabs his arm as soon as he’s close enough. She’s wearing a cobalt blue dress she bought herself on Tony’s behalf for her birthday some years ago.

"Miss Potts, you’re looking ravishing as usual," Tony grins, and Pepper pulls him into a hug. He closes his eyes and holds her tight.

"Not so bad yourself, Mr Stark," she smiles when they separate.

They stand there, the three of them, in their own cocoon of easy conversation and warm laughter. Natasha snarks at him and he snarks back. Pepper steals his drink and then teases him for getting her order for himself after all this time. Tony thinks he’d feel reasonably, marginally better about doing industry events if he could do them in Natasha’s company.

And then Steve Rogers is striding towards them, parting the crowd like he’s goddamn Moses, looking like Adonis reincarnate as per fucking usual.

"Tony," he says, loudly enough that several people glance in his direction, "will you dance with me?"

Steve is wearing a suit with no tie. The top two buttons of his dress-shirt are undone. Tony remembers the feeling of Steve’s arms around him, murmuring pretty things in his ear, and he knows, suddenly, that being that close to Steve — close enough to touch, to hold, to kiss — will be his undoing. His downfall. His entire collapse.

"Okay," Tony says, because Steve looks so handsome, and his eyes are so blue, and what the fuck else is there to lose, really?

He can’t help but laugh when _Can You Feel The Love Tonight?_ blares over the speakers, startling everyone present. "Finally got me, huh?"

"Guess so," Steve says, the corner of his mouth quirking up.

Tony’s heart leaps to his throat. He tries to swallow it down. "So does this mean—"

"Yes," Steve says, and kisses him.

Steve’s mouth is soft, and warm, and he tastes like red wine, and smells like something spicy, something heady and intoxicating.

He bites Tony’s bottom lip, then soothes it with his tongue. Tony opens his mouth under Steve’s, swipes his tongue against Steve’s frenulum, moves his hand from Steve’s shoulder to thread his fingers through the hair at the back of his head. Steve makes a small, strangled sound in the back of his throat and it’s Tony’s undoing.

His downfall. His entire collapse.

"Holy _shit_ ," he gasps, pulling back.

Steve gives him a knee-weakening smile in return.

“Clint made me watch _The Lion King_ ," he says, spinning Tony with a flourish. "I asked him who wrote the song, and I figured it out from there. Then I figured you were probably teasing me, and then I figured I want you to tease me like that for the rest of my life.”

"Holy shit," Tony says again. Steve dips his head and kisses him, slowly, sweetly.

"People will talk," Tony says, because he can’t just shut the fuck up and accept that he has a good thing.

"Let them talk."

"What about — the Avengers?"

Steve raises an eyebrow. "If SHIELD is going to object to my leadership because I’m in love with another man," he says, and a thrill runs through Tony at those words, "then I’ll gladly step down."

Tony gawks at him. "But — Steve, you can’t. You’re Captain America. You’re the original Avenger. This is like — this is — your _destiny_."

"Fuck destiny," Steve says seriously, looking Tony right in the eye.

Tony clings to him. He feels breathless in the best way possible.

Steve must misconstrue his silence, because his expression softens. "If you don’t want this,” he rumbles, "that’s okay. Whatever you want — anything you want — it’s yours."

"Anything I want?”

"Anything."

"I want you to kiss me again," Tony breathes. Steve smiles and obliges. Tony melts into him, grabs his lapels and pulls him in and in and in.

 

*****

 

They dance and they dance and they dance.

Steve leads them all around the floor, weaving between the other couples and bystanders. Natasha winks at them as they pass her.

Tony’s pretty sure everyone’s staring at them, and he’s pretty sure he doesn’t care.

 _Can You Feel The Love Tonight?_ bleeds into _Tiny Dancer_ , and then _Don’t Go Breaking My Heart_. Tony vows never to doubt the divine power of Elton John ever again in his life.

"You really want this," he says, because he still can’t believe it.

"I really want this," Steve affirms.

Tony looks at him. At Steve. _His_ Steve.

"Don’t go breaking my heart," he whispers after a while.

"I couldn’t if I tried," Steve promises.

 

*****

 

Tony wends his way through the crowd, Steve hot on his heels. He spots Pepper standing to the side, tapping furiously at her phone, and makes a beeline for her.

"Pepper—"

"It’s handled," she says, without even looking up. "SHIELD is making an announcement tomorrow, BuzzFeed has your official statement, you have a press conference in two weeks and an interview with _People_ magazine next month."

She looks at them, then, at their intertwined fingers and flushed faces. Her lips quirk up at the corners. "Will that be all, Mr Stark?"

"That will be all, Miss Potts," and then Steve is dragging him away again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the penultimate chapter of this thrilling saga! thank you for coming along on this wild ride i am truly hashtag blessed
> 
> seeing as we're friends now, you can call me saph. just you, though. don't tell anyone else.
> 
> — saph x


	13. Chapter 13

It's dark in the elevator, per Tony's request, and he and Steve are clinging to each other.

Steve kisses him hungrily, urgently, groans, _I want you so fucking bad_ in his ear and then nips at the skin there.

"Got a poem for me, Cap?" Tony smirks, pulling back to catch his breath.

Steve's face is flushed, and his eyes are blown, and his heart is thudding against Tony's chest to the beat of _Drop It Like It's Hot_.

He says, low and rough, without a glimmer of hesitation: "Beautiful, sobbing, high-geared fucking / and then to lie silently like deer tracks / in freshly fallen snow beside the one / you love. That's all."

"Fuck," Tony breathes raggedly, and yanks Steve through the elevator doors as soon as they slide open.

 

*****

 

Tony is suspended in this moment, lost to Steve's mouth and his hands and the hot, wet slide of his tongue. He's drowning and only fragments of him are spared.

"Wait," Steve says, pulling back, and he looks thoroughly debauched, wild and undone, like pure, unadulterated sin. "I love you."

The fragments coalesce and Tony turns to liquid, to a fucking puddle, heat and sensation and _feeling_ overwhelming him in the best way possible.

"I love you, too."

 

*****

 

Steve is beautiful. The kind of beautiful people break their necks to get another look at.

He's even more beautiful like this, broken open, skin and soul bared all at once. So beautiful Tony can hardly stand it. Michelangelo would _weep_.

"Fuck," Steve rasps.

"That's the idea," Tony grins, and pulls him back down on top of him.

Later, when Steve is spread against the crisp white sheets, miles of smooth, clear skin flushed red in splotches and slick with sweat, hair damp and wild and eyes screwed shut, mouth open, red and swollen and glistening in the low light, Tony leans down and murmurs in his ear, over the symphony of high, tight cursing and bucking gasps: _I like my body when it is with your body…_

 

_—fin—_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> our boys are gettin' BIZAY!
> 
> (oh my god that's so gross forget i said that)
> 
> this was fun! i had fun! i hope you also had fun! (please tell me you had fun i am deeply insecure and require constant reassurance)
> 
> this chapter's poem is deer tracks by richard brautigan and it's one of my favourite poems of all time
> 
> love and hot tamales
> 
> — saph x


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